"Carl's Lounge" (Off-Topic Discussion, Traditional Knife "Tales & Vignettes")

LKJW said:
Yeah, I gotta get as many fishing trips in while I can. :)

I'm in the Bay Area. It was a warm day, but at this turn in the lake when the sun goes down and the wind kicks up (like a mule), it gets real cold, real fast.

D
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Mark Twain wrote that the coldest winter he ever experienced was summer in San Francisco!

Carl.
 
kabar003.jpg





If this patina could talk
would it whisper the tale of a lad
sent half way around the world
to dangerous lands foreign and sad?

Would it speak of mundane tasks
completed as ordered?
Would it tell of long marches
across enemy borders?

Would it sing out with the pride
of an American fighting force?
A lethal instrument of war.
A legendary workhorse.

Or would it scream out the tale
of a warrior’s blade?
Of tasting enemy flesh and blood
During heroic raids.

I know not where it has been
for this Kabar is not mine.
It was entrusted to me
to renew the edge’s shine.

A son’s treasured memento
from the father that never told
of the brutality of his actions
both daring and bold.

I hope I did it justice.
I pray the edge is true.
My gratitude for the man’s service
why, it’s the least I can do.
 
The man that owns the knife, Martin, said that he was only 11 months old when his father passed away. Martin is a librarian and I pull a security gig every now and then there. I pulled out one of my traditionals one day to slice something, he saw it, and we started talking old knives. It went uphill from there.

Turns out he knows very little about what his dad "did" in WWII. He spends his free time at the library trying to research that history, history of a father that he never got to know.

Martin is senior to me in years, although I am not sure by how many. I would put him in his early 60s. His car is nearly half my age and he doesn't seem to have much in the way of material things.

He remarked on the sharpness of my slippie that day and asked me who sharpened it. When I told him I did he asked me if I would look at the above Kabar.

He has had it all of his life. He said he and his brothers used to play "War" with it back in his youth.

The sheath has writings on it.....writings of his father......to Martin's mother. It's hard to make out but when I cleaned it up, some of it came through. "Until we meet again" was plain as was "put this up" and her name.

So it is precious to Martin. I suggested a shadow box presentation case to him as a way to preserve the memory of his father. But Martin is the "giving" sort. Said he was going to give it to his younger brother who has children that it can be passed down to.
 
:thumbup:
That's as perfect a post as I've ever read here. Beautiful.

(Has BF ever started a "Knife Poetry" forum? If not, that ought to be the inaugural post.)
 
Thanks for sharing the knife and poem with us. When I first looked at it, and saw the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, my mind really started to race...

The patina probably would tell of a time in the young mans life, that he was far away from home, doing and seeing things a man of his age shouldn't have to see or do. The family and friends back home that he missed, and the friends that were with him, that never came back home
 
Obsessed with Edges said:
:thumbup:
That's as perfect a post as I've ever read here. Beautiful.

(Has BF ever started a "Knife Poetry" forum? If not, that ought to be the inaugural post.)
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You are too kind.

As I worked it's edge, my mind wandered as it usually does when honing good steel. But instead of the usual thoughts, scenes of war flooded over me.

As did thoughts of the man that it was issued to and what he had to endure. A "hey look what I sharpened" post just didn't seem to do it justice.

So I wrote this little poem after finishing the stropping and ensuring that it would shave a little hair off the old forearm. And I took the photo during my lunch break right before I returned it to Martin.
 
lwt210 said:
You are too kind.

As I worked it's edge, my mind wandered as it usually does when honing good steel. But instead of the usual thoughts, scenes of war flooded over me.

As did thoughts of the man that it was issued to and what he had to endure. A "hey look what I sharpened" post just didn't seem to do it justice.

So I wrote this little poem after finishing the stropping and ensuring that it would shave a little hair off the old forearm. And I took the photo during my lunch break right before I returned it to Martin.
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This seems to be a great example for some who might not 'get it', in terms of how the 'character' of a well-used tool can be so inspiring. To some, it just looks 'old & worn out'. To others, like yourself and many others here on BF, it represents so much more.
 
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